Fatal Flaw
by Steffi Hoffman
Summary: Merlin knew that he would rather die than betray Arthur. That was something that no amount of torture could change, but this time it was different. This time, it wasn't his own life under threat. This time, it was Arthur's. No slash!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Merlin, as much I wish it were, does not belong to me. He is the property of the BBC. **

**A/N: I do not know how often I will be able to update this. The idea has been bothering me, and I just had to get a part of it out there. Rest assured, it will never be abandoned. It just might take a while :).**

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><p>Prologue:<p>

Merlin shut his eyes as he hung in chains from a wall in the small, dank dungeon. He squeezed them together, trying to block out the mental pictures. There was no sound, no screaming. Not yet. However, the pictures were enough, a never-ending stream of possible scenarios, all horrible, all in complete silence.

Merlin heard the cell door open, and opened his eyes to see who it was, hoping against hope that it would be his friend. His hopes were dashed immediately.

One of the captors entered the room, and Merlin closed his eyes again. He couldn't block out the man's gravelly voice, however.

"Well, servant?" The sneer in the man's tone could not have been less hidden. "Are you ready to talk?"

Merlin did not respond, did not move, did nothing.

"Very well." The man turned and left, leaving Merlin alone. The boy felt unwanted tears slipping down his face and blinked them away angrily. Arthur would not cry, so neither would he. He did not know what to do. Out of all of the dreams in his wild imagination, he could never have imagined this. This nightmare.

Merlin knew that he would rather die than betray Arthur, betray Camelot. That was something that no amount of torture could ever change, but this time, it was different. This time, it wasn't his own life under threat. This time, it was Arthur's.

Merlin finally released the tears.


	2. Chapter 2

_24 Hours Earlier…_

Today was supposed to have been like any other day, and Merlin resented the change that the sudden reports of beasts raiding a far off village brought to his routine. The beasts were most likely nothing other than an unusually fierce pack of wolves, forced to attack the remote village in their desperation to find food in the winter. Though winters in Camelot were always marked by months of snow and ice, this one seemed harsher than the rest, and all manner of creatures were trying to find food.

Merlin pitied them, but not enough to stop a soft huff of annoyance from escaping his lips as he heard Uther debrief Arthur for his next mission. Arthur accepted his orders with the standard "Yes, Sire," and then swept gracefully out of the throne room, Merlin following in his wake.

Arthur was to lead a small team of knights to the far end of the kingdom to rid the town of the creatures. For Arthur, this meant showing goodwill to his people, taking part in a small battle, and returning home to his father's thanks. For Merlin, this meant days in the cold, riding on a hard horse's back, and putting up with getting snow in places that he didn't think possible. Needless to say, Merlin would have rather stayed home, but he knew that he had to go. The other half of his coin could find trouble even when performing the most mundane of tasks, and Merlin was destined to protect his prince. Come to think of it, Merlin would prefer if nothing happened to his arrogant prat of a best friend, either.

"Who are you planning to take with you, Sire?" Merlin inquired as he entered Arthur's chambers to help the prince get into his armor and chainmail.

"This shouldn't be too much of a problem," Arthur said airily. "The best knights needn't bother themselves with it. I'll take some of the new recruits. This will be a good first mission for them."

Merlin frowned slightly at this. If there was one thing he had learned in his time serving Arthur, it was nothing ever was as easy as it seemed.

"Shouldn't you take at least one of the senior knights with you? Sir Leon? Or Sir Kay, maybe?"

"Don't be such a _girl_, _Mer_lin! Nothing is going to happen. We ride in, kill the beasts, and come home. You will be back to Gaius in no time." Arthur smirked as Merlin glared at him, handing Arthur his sword as he did so. "Meet me in the courtyard. We leave in half an hour."

Merlin sighed again and went to make final preparations for the journey. He even managed to get to the courtyard on time, and soon the prince, his knights, and his ever-loyal servant left the warmth of the citadel in favor of the cold that lay beyond the boundaries of the city.

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><p>The trip to the town was uneventful, so much so, that Merlin found himself relaxing and actually enjoying himself. The countryside looked so much prettier when he wasn't on the lookout for a creature in each sparkling river, or a bandit behind each majestic, snow-covered tree. He rode next to Arthur, who seemed content to sit in a comfortable silence and observe the kingdom that he would one day rule. Merlin turned to look at the knights behind him. They were all young, with wide, excited eyes, eager to prove themselves in battle. Their red cloaks stood out clearly against the white, a splash of Pendragon red claiming dominance over the snowy land.<p>

_Fitting_, Merlin thought. _Very fitting_.

Turning forward again, he spied the town, smoke rising from tiny houses that were visible only due to the clearness of the winter day. However, the sun was beginning to go down, and Merlin shivered in anticipation of a cold night.

Arthur reigned in his horse and halted his men, turning face them.

"You have all done well," he declared, smiling slightly with pride. "We shall rest for the night and continue in the morning. We will reach the town by midday. Then, we shall see just how much you have retained from your training."

The knights all nodded, some murmuring a quiet "yes, Sir!". Merlin had to strain to hold back a small sigh. This complete deference would do nothing to help Arthur's royal-sized ego. He would have to make sure to throw in a few extra insults when they talked that night.

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><p>The anticipated night fell a few hours later. The men, including, to Merlin's surprise, Arthur, quickly gathered wood and set out the supplies, and soon they were all eating a decent supper as they sat around a roaring fire. Arthur assigned the watches soon after, allowing the more eager knights to take the first few. Laughing a little at their enthusiasm, he finally took his seat on his bedroll. Merlin soon joined him, moving his own right next to Arthur's.<p>

Merlin took a look at his best friend. Though Arthur was more experienced and managed to hide it well, Merlin could tell that he was just as excited as the young knights. His eyes, though tired, sparkled with anticipation at the prospect of what tomorrow would bring. Merlin couldn't help rolling his own. What was it about fighting creatures that gave Arthur such a thrill? He would never understand it.

Arthur must have seen the eye roll, for Merlin soon found his arm bruised from another one of Arthur's affectionate punches.

"Cheer up, Merlin! We will be there in the morning. In the meantime, the night is clear and the stars are out. This isn't so bad."

Merlin had to concede. The stars twinkled high above the two, the million tiny pinpoints of light brightening the sky. It was impossible to feel gloomy on such a night, despite the cold and snow.

"Maybe you're right," he admitted reluctantly. He should have expected what came next.

"Of course I'm right! I am the Prince of Camelot!" Arthur replied, a grin of anticipation on his face. He was not disappointed.

"Prat!" Merlin challenged.

"Idiot!" Arthur shot back.

"Clotpole!"

"Dimwit!"

"Dollop head!"

"You do know that that is _still_ not a word, right _Mer_lin?" Arthur said.

"And I have told you, _sire_, that it is idiomatic." Merlin retorted.

At this, Arthur threw back his head and let out a long laugh. Eventually he settled down and turned to Merlin once more.

"Get some sleep. We still have a big day of riding tomorrow, and then some beasts to take care of!"

Arthur then rolled over, settling himself more comfortably on the bed roll. Merlin soon heard soft snores from his direction and decided, for once, to follow his advice.

"Good night, Arthur," he said softly, before closing his own eyes.

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><p>Merlin would never know what actually woke him up that night. His eyes shot open and he was instantly on full alert. Sitting up, he looked around. The fire had burned low, almost going out. The knights were all asleep except for the one standing watch, and that one was shaking himself awake every few minutes. Arthur was still snoring beside him.<p>

Merlin then glanced at the horses. They seemed restless. They kept shuffling, huddling closer together under their blankets, for protection or warmth Merlin couldn't tell. However, a small voice in the back of Merlin's mind told him that he had not woken for nothing. This knowledge was what made him wake Arthur. He would rather face the prince's ridicule at being too cautious than ignore the voice and have something bad happen.

"Arthur," he whispered, shaking the prince. Arthur stirred and rolled over, blinking sleepily at Merlin.

"Merlin? What is it?" he responded. Merlin could only shake his head. However, instead of making fun of him, Arthur sat up slowly and studied his manservant. He then reached for his sword and started to look around, just as all hell broke loose.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2:

A large group of men, all in black, leaped out from amongst the trees, charging at the group. Arthur sprang to his feet, all signs of tiredness gone from his face. Roaring at his knights, who were just waking up and noticing what was going on, he ran to meet the first of the men, their swords clashing in the silence of the night.

Soon the other knights joined the battle, and Merlin stood off to the side, trying to pick Arthur out from the rest of the mess. His prat was _not_ going to die in an ambush. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Unfortunately, it appeared that his input did not matter. Just as he turned toward a cry that sounded like it was from Arthur (from pain or anger, he couldn't tell), he was struck in the back of the head. One of the men must have snuck up behind him. Merlin had just enough time to think "_well, __**that's**__ not very sportsmanlike_" before his world went black. He didn't even feel himself hit the ground.

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><p>Merlin woke up just as he heard an unfamiliar voice say "check for survivors", and was unsure whether or not he should curse or thank his luck. That was when what the voice had said hit him, and his eyes shot open.<p>

_Check for survivors._ As in, everyone except him might be dead. As in, Arthur might be dead.

Before he had a chance to move to try to find Arthur, he was hauled up by one of the attackers. The sudden movement made his head spin.

"This one's alive," the man gripping him said, and then he found himself lugged over to where the ambushers seemed to be gathered.

"So is this one. Bleeding a bit, though," another man declared. Merlin lifted his head towards this new speaker. Could it be…?

He let out a small sigh of relief. The next man to be dragged over had the blond hair and commanding stature that could belong to none other than Arthur. Unlike Merlin, who had one man guarding him, Arthur had five surrounding him. At the rest of the group's curious looks, one of the men holding Arthur shrugged.

"Hey. He can fight."

The other men nodded in agreement, and the group seemed to drop the matter.

Merlin studied his best friend and destiny. Even when captured, the prince gave off an air of defiance and dignity. Merlin allowed himself a small smile when he saw the blonde's eyes. The magnificent blue orbs were crackling with anger, without a hint of fear. Merlin's smile dropped when he checked the rest of Arthur over and noticed that he was favoring his left side. Merlin found the source of the trouble and had to swallow his small gasp.

_Bleeding a bit, though._ That had certainly been an understatement. Arthur's right side was covered in blood. It seemed as though a sword had caught him on the side as he turned to try to fight off all of his attackers. Merlin looked back up at Arthur's face, having finished checking on his friend, only to find that the prince had been doing the same. Meeting Merlin's eyes, Arthur silently asked Merlin if he was alright. Merlin gave the faintest of nods, and then asked the same. Arthur responded in kind. To Merlin's disbelieving look, he mouthed "just a scratch". Merlin couldn't hold back his eye roll. If he had a new neckerchief for every time he heard Arthur say that to brush off an injury…

Merlin's train of thought was cut off as the rest of the ambushers returned to the group. There were about twelve men still standing, while a little more than half that number lay dead in the clearing, a testament to Arthur and the knight's prowess in battle. Altogether, there had been around twenty-five men, too many for even the great Arthur to fend off. Merlin's blood ran cold when he heard the final report:

"No other survivors."

Arthur's head dropped the smallest fraction. Merlin knew what was going through his mind. Those had been _his_ knights. They were his trainees, and his responsibility. Besides that, they were good men, with families and lives. Arthur would blame himself for their deaths.

A single man stepped out from the rest of the group, heading towards Arthur and Merlin. From the way he carried himself, Merlin could tell that he was their leader. He stopped right in front of the two captives. After studying them for a few minutes, he finally spoke. His rough, gravelly voice carried across the clearing.

"Well, well. Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot and his manservant. I must say, I rather hoped that you would survive. You have no idea how _happy_ this makes me."

The men behind him laughed harshly, and Merlin suppressed a shiver. Something about the man disturbed him, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

The leader looked at both of them for another long moment before turning to the rest of his gang.

"Take them away."

As the men moved in, Arthur finally spoke.

"Stop!" The leader raised an eyebrow in amusement, but gestured for his men to halt. "Take me if you want, but let him go. He's just a manservant. He shouldn't have any part in this."

At this, the leader smirked. "Yes, my prince, but he is _your_ manservant. And that makes all the difference." He turned and motioned for the men to take them away again.

Merlin could tell that Arthur wasn't going to go quietly and looked at him. Arthur glanced at him, met his eyes, and then gave a short, quick nod. Both of them immediately started struggling for all they were worth. Merlin was only covered by one man, and he swiftly broke away and raced towards the trees. He disappeared into the undergrowth, where it would be difficult to see him, despite the clear night. Once he was safely hidden, he turned, panting, to look for Arthur.

Arthur wasn't there.

Looking around frantically, Merlin slowly edged his way back towards the clearing. When he reached the bushes outlying the clearing, he cautiously peered into it. Then, he visibly gulped.

Arthur was surrounded by even more men. He looked paler (Merlin assumed from blood loss; the wound in his side hadn't quite stopped bleeding yet), but otherwise none worse for the wear. Merlin chuckled slightly when he looked at the men around him. Almost all of them wore signs of the prince's handiwork. Many of them were clutching broken noses, while others sported the beginnings of magnificent black eyes. One poor soul even appeared to have had his jaw dislocated. All of them were glaring at Arthur, who was glowering right back. Merlin allowed himself a small smile of pride. These men had paid dearly for trying to hold down his prince.

However, that didn't change the fact that there was now absolutely no way for Arthur to escape. Merlin considered using his magic. There was probably no way that Arthur could see him…

Before he could, the leader stepped out of the shadows.

"Your servant better come back," he said quietly. Merlin leaned more closely towards the clearing to try to hear him.

"I think he quite likes it better where he is now," Arthur retorted. Merlin had to hold back a snort of laughter. _Leave it to Arthur to be a prat to his captors_, he thought. His small moment of glee vanished when he heard what was said next.

"Then that is too bad. For you," the leader responded, still speaking quietly. "I saw the way you two looked at each other when you were captured. I could not believe it at first, but your request for him to be let go confirms it. The mighty Arthur Pendragon is friends with a servant." Arthur opened his mouth to say something, possibly to deny it, to declare that that was a ridiculous claim, but the leader cut him off. Raising his voice, he turned towards the darkness of the bushes around the clearing.

"I know that you are still there, servant! Come here now, or your prince suffers."

"Merlin! Don't listen to h-!" Arthur was cut off as a hand was slapped over his mouth. Merlin could see his eyes widening in fury. He didn't know what to do. He knew that Arthur would want to kill him if he came back, but the ruthless group of men might do something to him if he did not. Frozen with indecision, Merlin stayed where he was.

"Very well, servant. Maybe this will help you make up your mind." The leader turned back to the men holding Arthur. "Hold him tight," he instructed. "Stretch out his left arm."

Merlin knew what they were going to do a split second before they did it, but he was too late to stop it. The leader grabbed Arthur's extended arm and pulled back on it with one swift yank. Merlin could hear the crack as his shoulder was wrenched out of his socket from across the clearing. Arthur roared in agony.

Merlin then knew what he must do. What had just happened to Arthur was his fault. He would not let anything more happen to his best friend. With this resolve in mind, he stepped from his hiding place and into the clearing.

Arthur was the first to see him, and his eyes were filled with a mix of disappointment, pain, and sorrow. The leader turned next, spotted the gangly servant, and ordered his men to grab Merlin's arms with a smirk. Merlin was hauled over to stand next to Arthur.

"I thought I told you to run," Arthur whispered. Merlin just shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't watch you get hurt."

Instead of arguing the point more, Arthur nodded in silent understanding. The two boys just looked at each other for a few seconds before a cruel laugh jolted them back to their reality. They turned to see the leader of the ambushers standing right behind them. He had heard their entire exchange. Arthur looked away in disgust, but Merlin stared into the man's eyes, meeting his leer for a few seconds before they were forced to walk away.

In that gaze, Merlin finally discovered what was bothering him about that man. In his eyes, there was no mercy or conscience, just blood thirst and ruthlessness. The leader was evil, and they were trapped in his clutches.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3:

Arthur, despite all appearances, was still a little unsure as to what exactly had happened. Merlin had woke him up, and when he could not provide a reason as to why, Arthur had had every intention of calling him a girl, accusing him of needing Gaius, or scolding him with some other derisive comment and topping it all off with a trademark smirk. One close look at Merlin's face, though, had stopped him in his tracks. His usually cheerful manservant had looked worried, eyes glancing around wildly and a frown at his lips. Arthur, on instinct, had reached for his sword, just as a large group of men jumped out at them from the bushes.

Then, he had had no thoughts at all. Arthur had moved purely on instinct, natural talent, and years of brutal training. His sword had been an extension of his arm as he slashed, cut, and whirled around an impossible number of men. The first thing that brought him back to awareness was _pain_. Somehow, a sword had managed to slip under the defense on his right side and slice into his flesh. Roaring in a mix of anger and agony, Arthur had continued to fight, but he was getting slower and weaker. There were too many. The final straw came when someone had managed to punch him on his side wound, and Arthur had toppled to the ground, panting.

Now, the men were marching them along, and Arthur had a new pain to worry about. Yes, his left arm throbbed with every step, but he could brush that off. He still had his right arm to fight with. No, what pained him was not physical. All his men, his young recruits, his eager-to-please knights, had been slaughtered. He was alive, while some of his most promising men had been cut down. Deep down, he knew that there was nothing he could have done. The men had attacked too fast and without warning. However, that didn't change the fact that he felt responsible. If he could have trained them harder, taught them better, been more alert last night, this all might not have happened. In fact, if Merlin hadn't warned him, he himself might have been among the ranks of the silent dead.

That brought him back to Merlin. The idiot had been free! Why hadn't he just run, like any other servant would have? Arthur wanted to be angry, but he couldn't. He knew why Merlin had not run. He knew that, had their positions been switched, he would have done the exact same thing. However, that did not change the fact that now Merlin was trapped with him, trudging through the snow, for reasons still unknown, and he had no escape plan. He was having a hard enough time just walking straight, stumbling on just about every root, stick, and bloody _blade of grass_ that got in his way.

Come to think of it, his vision was blurring. He tried blinking to clear it, but all that did was make his rapidly deteriorating eyesight worse. His side throbbed even more, and he felt himself slowing down. He heard a growl from the man behind him, and then felt a shove, propelling him forward. His body could not handle such a movement, and his legs finally gave out. He dropped like a stone, landing on his injured right side. Pain, intense, white-hot pain, flared up from his side and into every corner of his being. With it, he felt his awareness slipping away. Darkness rose to greet him, and he succumbed quickly and gratefully to the black abyss of unconsciousness.

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><p>Merlin walked behind Arthur, trying to keep one eye on the prince and the other on their captors. He was worried about Arthur. The wound on his side seemed to have stopped bleeding, but it needed to be looked at. Merlin didn't know what he would do if infection set in.<p>

As he watched, Arthur seemed to stumble. Though this was unusual for the normally fluid prince, it had been known to happen once or twice, especially when the blonde was exhausted. This was certainly the case, so Merlin didn't think much of it. At first.

Arthur stumbled again. And again. And _again_. By the fifth stumble, Merlin knew, with absolute certainty, that something was wrong. Arthur was walking like, well, _him_. Merlin could do nothing but watch as Arthur seemed to slow down. The man behind him seemed to realize it, for he reached out and gave the prince a harsh push. Merlin knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. Without thinking, ignoring the shouts of the men surrounding him, he ran towards his friend. He was too far away to make it in time, and Arthur crashed to the ground, landing on his right side. By the time Merlin got to him, he was unconscious.

"Arthur!" Merlin cried desperately, but Arthur didn't stir. "Come on, Arthur. Get up!" Still no movement.

Still disregarding his captors, Merlin rolled his friend onto his other side to take a look at the wound. The jostling it had got from hitting the ground made it start bleeding again, the Pendragon red staining the snow, and Merlin had no supplies. Pulling up Arthur's shirt, he took a close look at the wound for the first time.

It was not terribly deep, but deep enough to cause Merlin to worry, and certainly deep enough to explain the prince's passing out. Dried blood was caked around the edges, the bright-red fresh blood leaking out around the sides. There was no infection (_Not yet_, said a little voice in Merlin's mind that he hurriedly told to shut up), but Arthur was losing too much blood, and Merlin had nothing to bandage it with. He was reluctant to use any shirts. It was rather cold outside, and, now that the adrenaline from the capture had run its course, Merlin had started to shiver. He did not wish to make his friend any more uncomfortable than he already was, but Arthur's shirt undoubtedly had the heavier material between the two of them. The fabric would make for a sturdier bandage. He started to reach for Arthur's already ruined shirt to tear it into strips when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he had to suppress a shiver. It was the leader.

"Take these," the leader said quietly, and he handed Merlin some strips of fabric and a water skin. Merlin took them, but after that didn't move, just staring up that the leader.

"Why would you help him?" he asked. He was prepared to check the water for poison, to scour the fabric for pieces of glass, to look for anything that could hurt his friend even more. The possibilities were endless…

"He is no good to me dead," the leader replied. He straightened up and started to move away. As he did so, he turned back to Merlin and added, almost as an afterthought, "Not yet, anyway".

Merlin watched him walk away and briefly wondered what could have possibly happened to this man to make him as evil as this before turning to the inert form of Arthur. Washing his wounds out as best he could with the water from the water skin, he then bandaged them up, tying them mercilessly tight. It was better to have it be too tight then to have it be too loose and fall off. Who knew when he would next be able to help his prince?

As soon as he stepped back slightly, still reluctant to leave Arthur's side, the leader moved back towards them. He nodded with approval at the hasty binding job, then turned to one of his men, a big, burly fellow.

"Carry him," he nodded in Arthur's direction. The man made a face.

"Malend," he complained, almost whining, "do I _have_ to? Why can't we just wake him up and make him walk?"

Without another word, the leader, Malend, drew his sword and cut off the man's head. The dead man's body crumpled to the ground before anyone had a chance to realize what was happening. The head rolled off to the side, blood tainting the pure white of the snow. Merlin watched in horror. What kind of man _was_ this?

Malend turned to another man. "Carry him," he said again. This time there was no argument. The man moved immediately to pick up Arthur's limp form, and the party continued on.

Merlin watched the man bearing closely, just in case, but it seemed that no one wanted to try anything after what had last happened. He tried to be happy about one of their captor's deaths; after all, the man had probably killed a few knights, could have wounded Arthur, but it was impossible.

The only good that he felt came from the encounter was that he now knew the leaders name.

_Malend_. A nasty sounding name that sent shivers up Merlin's spine, and not just from the cold.

_Fitting_, Merlin thought for the second time in as many days. _Very fitting_.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4:

Merlin tried to keep track of where they were going. He really did. He fully intended to take advantage of the fact that he was not blindfolded and the night was still relatively clear. However, soon the day's events caught up with him. He felt exhausted and was having problems keeping his eyes open. Still, he kept an eye on his surroundings. Maybe, if he could just remain alert, he could escape with Arthur and make his way out of the forest and back to the road…

This was easier said than done. All the trees began to blend together. Merlin had a hard time picking out landmarks to remember a trail by. After passing a particularly gnarled tree for what seemed like the third time, Merlin concluded they were purposely going around in circles to throw him off track and conceded defeat. Tracking had always been Arthur's forte, not his. Maybe if Arthur was awake, he would have been able to find their way home.

And therein lay the problem. Arthur was still limp and unconscious in their captor's arms. Having given up on the tracking, Merlin narrowed his focus to two things: Arthur and the treacherous rocks and sticks that lay under the snow, just waiting for a clumsy manservant (such as himself) to trip over them. He would be damned if anything else happened to Arthur under his watch. As for the rocks, well, falling was no picnic, and he wished to minimize the experience as much as possible.

After walking for hours, the group started to slow their pace, apparently having reached their destination. Merlin raised his head from where he had been eyeing the ground to look around. They appeared to be in front of an old prison stronghold. It loomed, tall and menacing, above them. Merlin craned his neck to look at the top as they advanced toward it. Though it seemed to have been built years ago, its gray rock still looked sturdy. Suppressing the chill that the almost-menacing building gave him, Merlin quietly walked inside.

He was hustled along to the dungeons of the stronghold. The hallways were damp and the stairways down to the lower level were so twisted that Merlin got a little dizzy. Upon reaching the bottom, Merlin was pushed into a small cell. Losing the balance that he had a tenuous grasp on anyways, he tumbled to the ground. He barely had time to roll out of the way before the unconscious Arthur was thrown unceremoniously after him. He glanced at the door just as it slammed shut. He had time for one last glimpse of Malend's gleaming eyes before the door closed completely, the boom it made resonating with finality.

Merlin turned to regard his master-turned-friend and took in his slumped, limp form. Arthur's eyes were closed, his face red from the cold. He lay on his left side, his dislocated arm stretched out awkwardly. His body was covered with small scratches and bruises, though none as horrific as the gash on his side. The bandage that Merlin had tied around the gash looked like it was a little loose, but it held. Merlin felt a small rush of pride when he saw this and quickly pushed down a wish that Gaius could have seen it as well. He moved to Arthur and turned him onto his back.

_At least he didn't land on his injured side_, Merlin thought. Small mercies.

As neither of them was going anywhere anytime soon, Merlin sighed and contemplated the door. It was obvious that their captors did not know of his magic. It would be a small task to break it open, grab Arthur, and get them both to safety. However, he needed Arthur at full strength for their escape. He had no idea how to even get back to where their camp had been, let alone the citadel of Camelot. Arthur would have to lead them through many feet of freshly fallen snow, no easy feat, and he would have to be healthy and alert to do so.

There wasn't much Merlin could do about the first requirement, but he sure as hell could do something about the second. He reached out to shake his friend awake. Just before he did so, however, his gaze fell upon Arthur's left arm.

Well, maybe he could do _something_ about the healthy part. Grasping Arthur's arm, Merlin prepared to yank it back into its socket and silently thanked whatever deity might be listening that Arthur was still unconscious. This was going to hurt.

* * *

><p>Arthur woke up to the not-so-pleasant sensation of an agonizing pain in his left arm. He barely managed to bite back the scream that rose to his lips. <em>Princes do not scream<em>. However, he did allow himself a small groan. Not too undignified and just enough sound to relieve some of his pain. Perfect.

Once his blurry vision cleared and the pain died away a bit, he chanced a glance at his surroundings. The first thing he focused on was the too-big smile of his clumsy manservant.

"Hello, Arthur!" Merlin chirped. Arthur just looked at him. How his friend could manage to sound cheerful even in the most dire of circumstances, Arthur would never know. The blonde shook his head slightly and moved to sit up. Unwittingly, he put weight on his left arm, remembering the snap it made as the leader jerked it out of its socket too late. He braced himself for the crippling agony, only to be surprised by the dull, manageable pain that he felt instead. He glanced at Merlin again.

"Did you reset my shoulder?" he asked, amazed that his servant managed, for once, to do something right. He rolled his shoulder around. It hurt, but he could deal with that. He now had full use of his arm and heaven knows he has been through worse before.

"Yes, sire." Arthur was almost as surprised by the lack of insult or remark after Merlin's response as he was by the use of his title. What was Merlin so distracted by? He turned to look where his manservant was looking and saw the door and gray walls of their cell.

Oh.

Arthur stood up, ignoring the pain in his side and the twinge in his arm, and took stock of their surroundings. They were in a cell; there was no argument to be had about that fact. The walls were built with a stone that looked ancient, but still sturdy. The door was of oak and appeared to be reinforced with some sort of metal. The ceiling was remarkably high, but the area of the cell was very small. As Arthur began to pace, he could cover the longest distance from wall to wall in a series of five strides. Most troubling of all, however, were the sets of chains that hung on the wall opposite the door.

The prince turned to Merlin. "What happened?"

Merlin shrugged, looking at him strangely. "We were attacked by a large group of men and taken captive." Now looking slightly worried, afraid that Arthur had somehow been hit on the head and forgotten everything, he reached out to place a hand on his prince's forehead. "Are you feeling alright?"

Arthur shrugged off the hand angrily. "I know _that_! What happened after I…?"

"Fainted? Swooned? Collapsed on your rear like a little girl?"

"_Passed out_, _Mer_lin!" Arthur took a steadying breath. He would not let the servant rile him this time, he would _not_. "How did my side get bandaged up? We had no supplies."

"Oh," Merlin replied ever-so-eloquently. "Well, Malend, the leader, gave me some bandages and some water to clean out the wound with. Then he ordered one of his men to pick you up and we were brought here and thrown into this cell."

"Wait," Arthur was slightly confused. "Why would he give you bandages for me?"

Merlin's gaze immediately dropped. Arthur glanced down at the floor for a split second as well, just to make sure nothing threatening was there. He saw nothing, but apparently Merlin was noticing something extremely interesting, for he refused to look back up and meet Arthur's eye. He mumbled something incoherent.

"What was that, Merlin? Don't be such a _girl_; speak up!"

Merlin steeled himself with a deep breath. "I said, he said you weren't any good to him dead yet!"

Silence reigned in their small cell. Each young man stared at the other, one trying to process the information and the other attempting to read his reaction. Finally, Arthur broke the silence.

"Well, let's worry about that when we have to, shall we?"

Merlin looked slightly surprised at his lack of reaction, but what had he expected? Arthur to lie down and start crying? If anything, Malend's disturbing comment had made the blonde noble even more eager to escape, and he was not going to stop until he did so. These kidnappers would rue the day they decided to mess with Arthur Pendragon!

As Merlin opened his mouth to respond, he was cut off by the rattling of keys in a lock before the sinister man himself threw open their cell door. Smirking, he entered the room, flanked by three strongmen. Arthur immediately stepped in front of Merlin, though what he could do against four men, all the while weakened and unarmed, he had no idea. All he knew was he planned to give them hell.

"Restrain them," Malend ordered lazily, gesturing in their general direction. Two men headed towards the wounded prince, while the other turned to the skinny manservant. Merlin struggled for all he was worth, punching the man as hard as he could and kicking at every opportunity. However, despite his best efforts, the thug simply laughed and continued to try to contain the furious boy. Finally, a punch connected with Merlin's head, and he cried out before falling to the ground. He tried to clear his fuzzy mind as quickly as possible, but it was too late. By the time he was able to function, his wrists were in the manacles across from the door. He was chained to the wall with no hope of getting free.

Arthur's luck was not much better. He managed to land a hard punch to one of the henchmen's nose, noticing with relish that it was the same man who had received a black eye in one of their earlier fights. The man howled as a sharp crack was heard and blood gushed out of the broken nose. Arthur grinned in triumph before returning to the struggle once more. For a second, it seemed like he might beat them both down. Then he heard Merlin's scream. The blonde glanced in Merlin's direction for a split second, but that was all it took. A fist crashed, once again, into his injured side and he crumpled to the ground, handicapped by the horrible agony. The two thugs grasped both of his arms and hauled him to his feet where he half hung, halt stood unsteadily. Malend looked pleased.

"Take him to the chamber." And with that, Arthur was dragged away. The brute that had restrained Merlin smiled and followed him. Malend now stood alone, across from a chained up Merlin.

He studied the manservant for a while, during which time Merlin glared at him, wishing his looks could kill, before speaking.

"I know that you and the prince are friends. No, don't even try to deny it," he said as Merlin opened his mouth to object. "You came back so that he wouldn't be hurt any more. I wonder what else you would do for him." He stopped to gaze at the servant once again before continuing.

"You are the prince's manservant. Anywhere the prince goes, anything the prince does, you are present. You are there in council meetings, there at the knight's training, there during the patrols. You know as much information about Camelot as the prince himself, simply by default. You will tell me its weaknesses."

Merlin snorted. "Not likely."

Malend sighed. "I thought you might say that." He turned for a second and leaned out the door, shouting "begin" down the hallway. Merlin then heard the unmistakable sound of a whip cracking through the air. His heart filled with dread, but his mind refused to acknowledge what had just happened.

Malend must have seen his inner turmoil and decided to "relieve" it. He spoke his next words with relish. "Yes, servant. Denying me has consequences. I will not harm you; that would mean nothing to you. But for a dear friend to suffer…" He fell silent again and listened as the whip fell again and again. There were no cries of pain. Not yet. He turned to Merlin again, meeting his horrified gaze.

"Every time you refuse to tell me what I wish to know, the Pendragon will feel pain. He will feel agony. And it will be all your fault."

With that, Malend excited the cell, leaving the door slightly open so that Merlin could hear the relentless cracking of the whip as it rose and fell, time and time again, on his best friend's back.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: First of all, I think I forgot to mention earlier that I have no beta, so all mistakes are my own.**

**Secondly, I would like to thank everyone who is still with this story, all of those who have reviewed, and those who asked me if I was going to continue. I'm sorry about the long wait. School really got tough, and I barely had time for sleep, let alone my fics. I'm not promising constant updates just yet, but I will have more time to write now, so hopefully I can avoid these long hiatuses in the future. Again, thanks, and I hope you enjoy the fic.**

Chapter 5:

Merlin could take many things, and, in fact, had. He had fought any number of magical creatures, bandits, and invading armies. He had taken down many powerful magic users. He had been poisoned, stabbed, and hit by goblets. However, he could not take the idea of his best friend getting tortured. As he heard the whip once again, he made his decision. Secret be damned; he was going to bust himself and Arthur out of here and hang the consequences!

With that, Merlin reached deep down inside himself, to the place where his magic resided. He pulled on it, let it fill him, reveled in it. Finally, he felt his eyes burn gold and whispered a spell that would make the chains come flying off. He would break down the door, would bring down their captors, would rescue Arthur. He smiled in triumph. No one could keep Emrys from his destiny!

Except the chains weren't coming off.

Merlin looked at them in confusion. He knew he had said the right spell. Why wasn't it working? He tried again. And again. And _again_. He tried every spell he thought might possibly work. He even tried using some of his instinctual magic. Maybe he could just _will_ the chains to move…

Nothing worked, and now a fully panicking Merlin was forced to admit defeat. For some reason, his magic wasn't working. He could feel it within him, ready for his command, but it would not manifest itself in any of his spells or enchantments. He found himself completely powerless. He was normal, as normal as _Arthur_, the opposite of magic! How could he get them out of this without his magic?

Hanging there, for the first time, Merlin felt pangs of fear running through his body.

* * *

><p>Arthur had attempted to struggle against his captors as he was pulled down the hall, but the pain in his side prevented him from doing much. He was hauled into a small room off to the side. He tried to take stock of his surroundings. Number one rule of being a knight: know the area in which you fight.<p>

Looking around, Arthur managed to suppress a shudder. The room could be described as nothing other than a torture chamber. Various swords, maces, arrows, and other instruments of war littered one wall, while a series of sharp pieces of metal that he could not immediately identify hung in the other. A fire with assorted brands was in the corner. Directly in front of him was a pole with straps attached to it. Arthur immediately knew what this was and renewed his struggle.

Getting injured in a battle was one thing: he was able to defend himself then and any wounds that he received were his fault, because of his inadequacies. He still had a form of control. Getting strapped down and tortured was a different story. He could not dictate what happened. He was completely at the mercy of his captors, to live or die under their whim or for their sadistic pleasures.

Despite his thrashing, and to his utter horror and suppressed panic, he was tied to the whipping post so tightly that he was unable to move. What was left of his shirt was ripped from his body, causing the damp chill of the dungeons to seem to magnify. Arthur couldn't stop his gaze from drifting to the wall in front of him. Hanging menacingly from the wall were an assortment of whips. For once in his life, Arthur wished he could turn off the running commentary of his knight training that informed him that in front of him, waiting to be used _on_ him, were various bull whips, weave whips, snake whips…

A thug crossed in front of him, holding another whip in his hand. He leered gleefully at the look on Arthur's face when he realized what exactly this whip was: a cat of nine tails. _A whip with nine different braids, spiked with glass along the edges, specifically designed for pain_, quoted the knight inside of Arthur, the knight that he desperately wished would simply Shut. Up.

The brute dangled the whip in front of him for a little while longer, then stepped behind him out of sight. For a while nothing happened, but Arthur recognized all the signs of a man waiting for some sort of signal. He was not disappointed.

The order to "begin" had scarcely finished echoing through the corridor before he heard the swish of the whip through the air. A second later, a wave of utter agony swept from his back and throughout his entire body. He gasped, chocking down any utterance of pain and struggling to catch his breath. He had almost no time to recover before the whip fell again. And again. And _again_. He heard the laughter of Malend and the thugs, but couldn't respond even if he had wanted to. He was too busy concentrating. He would not give these men the satisfaction of knowing just how badly this hurt. He would _not_.

With each jerk of his body in response to the whip, he repeated his mantra over and over in his head. It was his lifeline, his religion, his last link to sanity:

_Princes do not scream… Princes do not scream…_

* * *

><p>It felt like a lifetime before Merlin heard footsteps echoing down the corridor. He looked up as the two men who had dragged Arthur off arrived, dangling a limp, bare-chested prince between them. Malend followed right behind and leered at Merlin as the thugs carelessly threw Arthur into the cell.<p>

"Here," he said, laughing at Merlin's horrified look as he gazed at his unconscious friend. "Help him as best you can. After all, we need him as healthy as possible, don't we? Unless you care to answer my questions, of course." Merlin could do nothing but glare as Malend tossed a flagon of water and several bandages into the cell.

"Fine," the evil man declared. "I see how it is. And I will see Arthur again tomorrow."

One of the henchmen unlocked Merlin's chains, causing him to tumble to the floor and viciously rub his wrists together in an attempt to bring feeling back into the mistreated limbs. Malend grinned one more time before leaving, his men following close behind, the door slamming shut with a thud.

Merlin immediately went to Arthur. He had again landed on his side, his bare chest facing Merlin, his back hidden. He was so pale that Merlin almost feared the worst, and probably would have, had it not been for the gentle, if slightly labored, rise and fall of his torso with every breath. Bracing himself, Merlin turned him onto his stomach to get a look at his back.

It was worse than he could have ever imagined.

Bloody slashes crisscrossed Arthur's back. Some of the cuts had already clotted, but a few still oozed slowly. Chunks of flesh had been torn out from where it appeared some sharp object had been imbedded and then mercilessly ripped out again and again. It was painful to look at. To have to endure it was nothing less than, for lack of a better word, _torture_.

A soft moan escaped Arthur's lips, and the low sound jolted Merlin into action. Thankful that he had paid attention when Gaius when treating injuries, he flushed the wounds out as thoroughly as he could, earning another quiet groan for his troubles. He wrapped the bandages around the gashes with care before checking on Arthur's side. The bandage had a few spots of blood on it, but it would have to do. Merlin cleaned it again and rewrapped it, wishing that he had better supplies. As it was, they would have to make do.

Unless…

Unless Merlin could heal them. Yes, healing spells weren't exactly his area of expertise, and, true, his magic did not work earlier, but that could have been the cuffs. Maybe the chains had been made by an extra cautious blacksmith in the throes of the Great Purge… Merlin allowed himself to hope, reached for his magic, and let the words of the Old Religion flow from his mouth, channeling his energy into Arthur.

But, still, nothing happened. No magic left his body. It was like it was stuck, trapped within him, not exactly screaming for release, but not really comfortable with the situation either.

So it was not the cuffs, then. Merlin let his head fall for just a moment, along with his hope.

The shifting of his best friend had him looking back up.

* * *

><p>The first thing that Arthur was aware of was <em>pain<em>. It covered him, tore at him, made him wish that he could return to the darkness for just a little longer.

However, that was not knightly behavior, and he resigned himself to awareness. Gradually, he started noticing other things: the cool stone underneath his body, the chill in the air, the… bandages on his torso?

Arthur opened his eyes to find a wide pair of blue orbs staring at into his own. Startled, he jerked back a little bit, only realizing that that was a bad idea after his back flared in protest. Merlin jolted as well in response, but said nothing, continuing to watch him.

Arthur had no time for this. He was in pain, he didn't know where he was, and all he knew was that he had to get out and return to his father. A staring contest was clearly counterproductive. It was time to take control.

"What are you doing, _Mer_lin?"

At that, Merlin seemed to snap. "Well, I'm sorry that I cleaned and dressed your wounds for you. Next time, I'll try to be a little more careless! Meanwhile, how about we just ignore the fact that we are in a cell with no way out, held captive in some gray fortress in the middle of the forest by an insane, evil man! Oh, and that he is torturing you!"

Oh.

Arthur sighed. Panic would get them nowhere. He had to do something, if for no other reason than to put Merlin at ease. He struggled to sit up, holding back a cry of pain as his back erupted in agony. _Princes do not scream_. Vertigo overcame him, and he would have collapsed back onto the ground if Merlin had not suddenly been _there_. Maneuvering him gently, Merlin managed to get him into a position that actually caused his back minimal pain. Unfortunately, that position was leaning against his lanky manservant of a best friend. If Arthur had not felt like he could pass out again at any second, he might have complained. As it was, he settled for a dramatic eye roll and a disgruntled huff.

In order to avoid both the awkwardness of the situation and the pain of his wounds, he floundered about for something to talk about, something for them both to focus on. As he thought, something that Merlin had mentioned in his rant raised a red flag: the issue of where they were being held.

"Merlin, you said we were in a gray fortress of some kind?"

Merlin nodded, head bobbing up and down in barely veiled desperation.

The blonde frowned. As their captors were on foot, they could not have marched too far, so that meant that they still had to be somewhere close to the area where they were attacked. However, as far has he could remember - and, as prince, it was his duty to never forget - his father had no strongholds in this region of the forest. Arthur was well learned in all parts of the history of his kingdom-to-be, but in all of the time that he had been in tutoring and training, it had never been mentioned. So why was it here? There was no use for it, no reason for its existence. It made no sense. His father made sure that he knew everything about the kingdom just like he knew the hilt of his sword. Well, everything except the one subject that Uther had always completely avoided…

Arthur's eyes widened. "Merlin, I think that this was one of the small strongholds that my father built during the Great Purge!"

* * *

><p>Merlin inhaled sharply. He did not know whether to be surprised that the royal clotpole had enough brains to actually figure out where they were after getting dragged in unconscious or scared of the implications of their current location.<p>

So that explained why his magic did not work. Uther must have designed the fortress to hold those who practiced magic. Making sure that they did not use their power would have been necessary. Merlin tried to ignore the thought that Uther must have used magic for his own purposes to create the small citadel in the first place.

He also attempted to skip over the reason for the torture chamber just down the hall.

He turned his attention back to his knight and friend leaning against him. After all, now that he knew for sure that his magic would be useless until they escaped, he needed to put even more effort into keeping Arthur alive than usual.

Any energy that Arthur had regained from his deduction had been lost once again, and the prince was fading fast. Merlin saw the sleep pulling at his eyelids, saw how hard the blonde was struggling to stay awake. That would not do. The best chance that Arthur had of healing was through rest. He had to do something to get the stubborn noble to sleep.

Merlin decided to appeal to Arthur's pride and his own supposed weakness. "I'm a little tired, Arthur. How about we go to sleep?" He was not disappointed.

Arthur gave him a small smirk. "If you must, _Mer_lin." But any bite that his retort may have had was lost in the huge yawn followed. Merlin watched with a feeling of satisfaction as Arthur lost his battle with consciousness and slid into sleep.

Gently, he maneuvered the prince into a semi-comfortable position on the ground, mindful of his back and side. He laid down next to the prince, the day's events finally catching up with him as well. Arthur wasn't the only one who would benefit from sleep.

As Merlin closed his eyes, he tried not to think about anything. He tried not to think about the magic-proof fortress. He tried not to think about how there was no way out. He tried not to think about how Malend would be back for his injured best friend come morning.

He failed.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I just wanted to thank all you who have stuck with the story so far. I know that I have been horrible at updating, and I apologize, but I have not found much time to write recently. I still stand by what I said before: I will not abandon this fic. Special thanks to Kitty O, who always sends me a PM at just the right time to let me know that I need to get my butt in front of the computer and update. Kitty, I hope you like the last part. It was a bit of a challenge for me.**

Chapter 6:

Merlin would have liked to blame Arthur for his lack of sleep, but as he only managed to fall into a fitful doze a few times during the night, he was already mostly awake when Arthur started to stir. The soft, mostly choked off moan that escaped his prince's lips jolted him back to full

awareness.

"Arthur?" he inquired quietly. He wasn't disappointed.

"What do you want, Merlin?" Merlin frowned. The blonde was obviously at least mostly alert, probably from years of fighting wounded. However, he seemed to be lacking in energy. His pronunciation of Merlin's name lacked its usual bite on the first syllable, and, though the question was most likely meant to sound disparaging, it just sounded tired.

Arthur apparently grew impatient at the lack of immediate response. "Well, Merlin, unless you have something interesting to say or, better yet, know why we are in this predicament, I suggest that you not bother me." With that, he moved to turn away, but soon thought the better of it, if his sharp intake of breath was anything to go by. He settled for closing his eyes once again, but Merlin knew his friend well enough to tell when he was really asleep and when he was trying to get away from the world.

Merlin held a silent counsel with himself. He could remain quiet and pretend, as Arthur was, that nothing was really wrong. That he quickly threw out. He had never been that good of an actor, not when it was a friend's life on the line. He could tell Arthur what to expect come morning and leave out the reason for the torture itself. This second option was extremely inviting. Merlin was already living with the guilt of knowing that it was his fault that the blonde was under attack. What if Arthur blamed him as well? What if it made Arthur hate him? Merlin knew that he would not be too fond of anyone who caused him brutal bodily harm, whether directly or not…

He could tell the truth. The third choice sounded almost like a novelty. After all, he lied to everyone all the time. However, he had never lied to Arthur when it came to their friendship. As Malend was torturing Arthur because he knew it would hurt him, the situation definitely fell under the friendship category. Besides, even though Merlin may call him a dollophead and a prat, Arthur really was intelligent, unmatched when it came to matters of defense and strategy. Together, they might be able to figure out a plan.

Before he could change his mind, Merlin blurted out "I know why."

Arthur opened his eyes and frowned. "What?"

"I know why we are in this situation. Or, at least part of it. I don't know what Malend's final goal is. I don't really know what he plans to do with us later. I don't…"

Arthur cut off his rambling. "Okay, Merlin. Let's start with what you do know then, shall we?"

Merlin took a deep breath. "Malend is torturing you to get to me."

There was silence as Arthur stared at him blankly for a second. Then he began to chuckle. Soon his laughs were punctuated with small hitches that hinted at the pain his was in, and the pitch had risen with a little bit of hysteria. Merlin sat soundless and unmoving, waiting Arthur out.

As the prince's mirth died out, he actually turned slightly to look at Merlin. "Thank you, idiot. I was starting to almost miss your twisted sense of humor." Merlin just continued to say nothing. Arthur's small smile slowly fell. "You can't be serious?"

"Deadly, Arthur."

Arthur closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled slowly, and then opened them again. "Tell me everything."

And Merlin did. He told Arthur about how Malend chained him to the wall when they came for the prince. He divulged that Malend had figured out that they were friends. He revealed that Malend was determined to torture Arthur until Merlin gave up information that he knew because he spent almost twenty-four hours a day with the prince. He told his knight that Malend gave him the bandages and water to patch him up and that the leader of their captors was planning to come for Arthur come morn if Merlin did not give him the information that he wanted.

He meant to be stoic. He really did. After all, Arthur was the one getting tortured, and Merlin didn't see him getting emotional as he sat and listened quietly. However, he could feel the tears start to fall against his will. Turning away from his friend, he frantically tried to wipe them away, wishing that he could cover up all signs of their presence. He was so focused on his task that he jumped when he felt the hand come down on his shoulder.

Arthur didn't say anything. He didn't have to. The hand remained until Merlin got his emotions under control, and came off, almost as if it were never there, when Merlin started to turn back. Once he faced his friend again, he found Arthur's gaze intently staring at the wall, as if he found something about the gray stone incredibly fascinating. Merlin smiled slightly as he got the message. They would not speak of that moment again. If it was brought up, Merlin knew that Arthur would deny that he had ever attempted to help comfort anyone, especially Merlin, and would call Merlin a girl for crying. However, if left alone, it was an instant in which Arthur acknowledged and justified Merlin's emotions. Merlin would not be made fun of for this lapse.

However, his tiny grin melted away when Arthur turned back to him. "I have a question, Merlin. If Malend knew we were…closer than most and wanted information, why not just use you to get to me? You haven't the same training that I have. It would have been easier…" Arthur trailed off.

In a sudden flash of clarity, Merlin had the answer. Arthur was exactly right, just not quite thinking the same way. "It's _because_ I do not have your training. Malend thinks that I will break and give him the information sooner because I am not used to hearing" – _my best friend_, Merlin almost said – "people in pain because of me." _And he's right_, Merlin added silently, miserably.

So lost was he in his own wretched thoughts that he almost missed the faint murmur from Arthur, so quiet that Merlin was not sure if he was supposed to hear. "You never get used to it…"

Glancing at his prince, Merlin watched as Arthur seemed to take a breath to steel himself and then slipped into his leadership role as only one who has been born to command could.

"Alright, Merlin. We don't know why he wants this information, but we do know that it's for nothing good. Therefore, we simply cannot give him what he wants. We will not tell him anything about Camelot."

Merlin was in shock. "But, Arthur…"

"No, Merlin. We can't tell him anything."

"But he's torturing you!"

"We'll think of something, Merlin. Or at least we will if you can stop being an idiot for just a little while." Arthur gave him a faint grin that, by all rights, should not have made Merlin feel any better. But it did.

He just started to return the smile when he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside of their cell.

They fell silent as they listened to the tell-tale signs of a key turning in the lock, and then three henchmen burst through the door, followed by Malend. Two of the thugs went to where Arthur was sitting and hoisted him up, gripping his arms. Merlin saw him swallow a cry of pain. The third went over to Merlin and dragged him, struggling and squirming, over to the chains on the wall. Try as he might, Merlin could not stop him.

_Typical. Even when Arthur is injured, he needs more people to hold him down_, Merlin thought a little bitterly, pulling uselessly at the chains and manacles. He glanced over at Arthur, who was staring at him steadily from between his captors. The message in the sharp blue eyes was clear: _say nothing_.

At Malend's nod, the men holding Arthur carried him out the door and down the hall. The third followed. After their departure, Malend turned to Merlin.

"I don't suppose there is any chance that you have changed your mind?"

Merlin shook his head, but remained quiet.

"No? Very well."

He turned to the hall, screamed _begin_, and closed the door completely this time, leaving Merlin alone with his fear and guilt.

* * *

><p>Merlin shut his eyes as he hung in chains from a wall in the small, dank dungeon. He squeezed them together, trying to block out the mental pictures. There was no sound at all from Arthur, no screaming. Not yet. However, the pictures were enough, a never-ending stream of possible scenarios, all horrible, all in complete silence. Arthur whipped, Arthur stabbed, Arthur burned…<p>

Arthur dead.

Merlin heard the cell door open, and opened his eyes to see who it was, hoping against hope that it would be his friend. His hopes were dashed immediately.

Malend entered the room, and Merlin closed his eyes again. He couldn't block out the man's gravelly voice, however.

"Well, servant?" The sneer in the man's tone could not have been less hidden. "Are you ready to talk?"

Merlin did not respond, did not move, did nothing.

"Very well." The Malend turned and left, leaving Merlin alone. The boy felt unwanted tears slipping down his face and blinked them away angrily. Arthur would not cry, so neither would he. Arthur was strong. Arthur would die before he gave up Camelot…

He did not know what to do. Out of all the dreams in his wild imagination, he could never have imagined _this_. This nightmare.

Merlin knew that he would rather die than betray Arthur, betray Camelot. That was something that no amount of torture could ever change, but this time, it was different. This time, it wasn't his own life under threat. This time, it was Arthur's.

And that made all the difference.

Merlin finally released the tears, his quiet sobs still managing to echo around the otherwise completely silent room.

* * *

><p>Uther was not in the best of moods. Snowfall was pretty but always counterproductive when it came to running a kingdom. He had to make sure that his people were content, that his army was well trained and equipped, and that Camelot kept up a strong appearance, all at the same time. The winter just kept food and products less plentiful and made his days shorter.<p>

He dragged a hand through his short gray hair and glanced around the empty throne room. His gaze lingered on the vacant chair to his right, and he managed to repress a small sigh. Usually, Arthur would be there to help. The amount of work to be done always increased exponentially when the prince was not in Camelot. Although he knew that he had raised his son to be a great ruler and warrior, the fact that Arthur was nigh integral to running the kingdom still never ceased to surprise him.

Where had the years gone? He mused on his chair in a rare moment of peace that he allowed himself. It seemed like it was just last year that Arthur was a small boy, running around with his little first sword, attacking anything that moved, real or imaginary, without a care in the world. It was hard for him to look past the memories to see the man who his son had become.

And what a man it was: arrogant, headstrong, brave almost to the point of recklessness. Uther snorted at these. These were fine for a knight, but a prince? These were why Uther could not let him have free reign. Who knew what that boy would get up to? Uther still had so much to teach him. Arthur still had so much to learn…

The king looked at the small throne next to his once again, this time letting out a sigh of concession. Arthur was more than that. He was loyal, intelligent, compassionate, just.

And so very like his mother.

Uther was dragged abruptly from his contemplation by a sharp rap on the throne room doors. Shifting his gaze to the entrance, the king gave himself a second to stuff his moment of sentimentality away before bidding the knocker to enter. It was time to be a king again.

Sir Leon, a knight Uther recognized as Arthur's second in command, crossed through the threshold and knelt at his feet. After his invitation to rise, he simply stood silently, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

_Almost worried..._ Uther quickly shoved that thought away.

"Well?" he inquired, silently congratulating himself on his patience.

Leon finally spoke. "My liege, there have been reports of beasts in one of the outlying villages…"

Was that all? No wonder there was always so much more to do when Arthur was not around! His second in command was practically useless! Arthur would have already sent out knights. In fact, he himself had just sent his son out on a mission similar to this not too long ago. Hadn't Leon taken the initiative from the earlier orders? He would have to have a talk with Arthur about training. The current standard of knights was clearly below par.

Uther then realized that Leon had continued speaking.

"… the same that the prince set out to help."

Uther was so shocked by the mention of the object of his thoughts that he let out a very unkingly "What?" If Leon was taken aback by the sudden lack of poise, he did not show it.

"Sire, the reports of beasts have come from the same village that we received reports from earlier. Prince Arthur and his knights were sent out to take care of this problem. However, they should have reached the town already, and the new reports came today…"

And Uther got it. He understood why Leon was hesitant. He understood why this was a matter for him and not a knight, even the second in command. He understood that this was not even a matter for the king, but instead for the father that lay many layers beneath.

His only son, his pride and joy, was missing.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: So sorry again for the delay. I WILL NOT abandon this story. Thanks to all who have continued to review and favorite. Your support is invaluable. Kitty O, thanks once again for your Jedi mind tricks and getting my butt in gear. Starkid191, thanks for the not as obvious, but just as insistent, urges for me to finish this chapter.**

**Reminder: this is unbeta'ed, so all mistakes are mine. I am a greedy person...**

Chapter 7

Arthur really despised this room.

Upon getting dragged into the torture chamber, he was immediately lashed tightly to the same pole where he had his earlier meeting with the cat of nine tails. This time, however, no whip was dangled in his face. After what Merlin had just told him, he decided that this was a bad thing. After all, he could prepare himself for the pain if he knew what he was in for.

He couldn't prepare himself for the unknown.

This time, one of the thugs stood in front of him, and he could hear another just behind. After a shouted "begin" from their leader, he saw a flash of silver out of the corner of his eye before he felt a burning pain in his right shoulder. He glanced up just in time to see the knife and smirk of the man in front of him before he felt another cut from behind, this time on his back, right above his bandages. He barely registered the trickle of blood down his back before he felt another cut on the front of his torso, followed almost immediately by another to his upper back.

And so it went on. Arthur could not predict where they would go next. Sometimes they went for a relatively unharmed piece of flesh, others they seemed to enjoy trying to see how closely they could match the cut on an existing area in one quick swipe.

Arthur knew all about getting cut with a blade, though. It was painful and horrible, especially when done repeatedly, and the dripping blood left a person feeling squeamish and unclean, but it was a sensation he'd felt before. He had not become the best swordsman in the kingdom without his fair share of scars, after all. So, instead of focusing on the pain of each cut, he turned his attention to guessing where they might cut next and what he would do to all these men if he wasn't chained to the bloody pole. He took his mind away, entertaining himself with these games, and the torture became bearable. He even became amused with what he now considered meager and pathetic attempts at breaking someone. Merlin could withstand this! Clearly these men weren't prepared to deal with the training that came with the likes of the future king of Camelot.

He was so buried in his mind that he almost didn't notice the bandages around his torso betting unwrapped or the ceasefire in the stabs to his body.

It was his biggest mistake. He was not ready.

Fiery, burning agony erupted all over his body. It had no start and no end and never abated, remaining intense from one instant to the next. He bit back a yell of anguish.

_Princes do not scream._

Arthur managed to open watering eyes he hadn't even realized he'd closed and tried to see what these monsters were doing to him.

Salt. Salt was being poured in the new injuries in his front and back and in the old slashes the whipping had created. Slat was literally being rubbed into his wounds.

"Not so immune now, are we, Pendragon?" the man behind him chuckled.

Arthur did not open his mouth, afraid of what would come out. _Princes do not scream_. It took all he had, but he remained quiet. Camelot depended on his silence. Merlin needed his silence.

_Princes do not scream_…

* * *

><p>Merlin could only look on with horror from where he hung in his chains as his best friend was dragged, semiconscious, back into their shared cell. The two men hauling him threw him to the ground and left. Malend followed behind and entered the cell, crossing to Merlin's wall to unlock his shackles.<p>

"Are you willing to talk now?" he asked, gesturing at the lump that was the motionless Arthur. The prince's slightly opened eyes were the only indication he was awake and at least a little aware.

"Why? What do you want?" asked Merlin, rubbing at his freed wrists. Malend still hadn't stepped back from where he had moved into his space. His magic might not be good here, but he had to do something! Maybe if he moved fast enough he could catch Malend by surprise…

Seemingly ignorant of Merlin's plans, Malend continued to talk, shocking the young warlock out of his musings.

"I want to take over."

Merlin waited, but no more information seemed to be forthcoming. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. _Besides, it might be best to try to keep Malend talking_, he thought as he continued to rub at his wrists.

"But why? Did Uther do something to your family? Do you not approve of his hatred of magic? What?"

"Uther has never done anything to me or my family," Malend sneered, "and I've never had any interaction with the man. And I could not give a damn as to whether magic is oppressed or not. It can stay banished, for all I care. The Pendragons have been in power too long. I want the riches, I want the might, and I don't really care who I have to go through to get it."

At this, Merlin lunged at the evil man, but Malend seemed to have been anticipating it. Merlin managed to strike him twice in the head before he received a blow to his stomach so hard the breath went out of him. He sank to his knees, gasping and hunching over with his arms wrapped around his middle.

Malend walked to the door, pausing and turning around briefly as he threw it open.

"Right now, servant, your prince is in my way. He will always be in my way. If you give me the information, however, I might decide to let him live. Think about it." With that, he left, lock thudding into place behind him.

Still panting slightly, Merlin sat up until he was fully on his knees, staring at the door Malend had just stormed out of.

The man had practically no motive.

He did not want revenge or hate what Uther had done or need money. He just was in it for gold and glory. A man with so vague a goal did not need to have reasons or honor. Merlin understood this.

What he also understood with horrific clarity was that a man like this would have no limits to what he would do to Arthur.

_Arthur_.

With that reminder, Merlin whirled to where the prince was still on the floor, cursing himself for his distraction. He needed to remain focused! Arthur needed him to remain focused…

"Thought you'd forgotten about me for a while there," Arthur said with a weak attempt at his usual cockiness, once he seemed to notice he had Merlin's full attention.

Merlin was having none of it, not with Malend's warning still ringing in his ears. "What have they done to you?" he asked, even as he reached for the blonde to lay him out gently on his side. He noted the almost imperceptible winces made by the young knight, but decided to make no comment. Not yet.

"Nothing that awful. Just got a little more acquainted with some pieces of weaponry," Arthur commented mildly from where Merlin had positioned him like a rag doll.

Merlin snorted and examined the prince more closely, almost managing to hold back his exclamation of dismay. "They tore off your bandages," he remarked absently as he lightly brushed the cuts that littered Arthur's entire upper body. Upon retracting his hand, he noticed a white substance on the tips of his fingers. Looking more closely at the wounds, he realized that they were dirtied and clotted by this same substance. This solution dawned slowly and terribly.

"Is this… salt?" he questioned with trepidation.

Arthur mumbled something a little sullenly and certainly too quietly for Merlin to hear clearly.

"Arthur! Answer me!" Salt water helped with healing, but straight salt rubbed repeatedly into wounds was a torture as painful as it was creative. Merlin needed an honest answer immediately. The salt was probably still burning even now.

"Yes, alright?" the prince snapped back. "Who died and made you king?"

Merlin flinched. That was not even a little funny. Arthur at least looked a bit contrite and spoke in a softer tone.

"Look, Merlin, it is just a few scratches. I'm fine, honestly." He gave a valiant attempt at a smile.

That was it.

"No, Arthur! You are not fine. I know you also heard what Malend said, so you and I both know that you will probably not be fine at any point in the foreseeable future. So stop pretending this is just another lark. You don't have to be strong in front of me, Arthur! I'm your friend!"

"I especially have to be strong in front of you!" Arthur roared back, shifting to try to sit up in an obvious attempt to get bigger and reassert some of his authority. Unfortunately, he moved too quickly and too soon. Merlin saw the exact moment his face blanched and rushed forward. He managed to reach Arthur just before he collapsed onto his back. Gently, he maneuvered him back onto his side.

"I especially have to be strong in front of you," Arthur repeated softly. "I know what it is like to see someone hurting and to believe it is all your fault. I may not be able to do much in this situation, but I can damn well try to do two things. I can make you believe that you are not at all at fault, and I can try to make this easier for you to bear. Believe you me, I will do whatever it takes to achieve these goals."

"I don't know what to do," Merlin admitted quietly.

"You do not give up, and you do not give in." Arthur followed this with a firm nod, as if that were all there was to it.

"But they will just hurt you more! I will not be the reason you die."

"Malend will be the reason I die. You will be the reason Camelot lives. You must think of the future of Camelot."

_You are the future of Camelot_, thought Merlin. Despite his musings, he merely nodded in acquiesce. Then he looked at Arthur.

"I was not given any water or bandages this time. I cannot wash out your wounds. I'm sorry."

Arthur curled a bit tighter into himself where he lay and sighed. "It will be okay, Merlin. A little salt never hurt anyone."

Merlin chose to ignore the obvious exception. "Says the man who thinks too much about his stomach."

Arthur had closed his eyes, and Merlin knew he was fading fast, the day's events catching up with him. However, he found enough energy to blearily blink open one eye and glare at Merlin.

"It is all muscle, servant. I am not fat!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sire." Merlin grinned his first true smile in what felt like years at Arthur's sleepy grumble. He stared fondly down at his charge as the blonde succumbed to his exhaustion.

On a whim, he untied his current neckerchief and laid it gently over Arthur's torso. The sudden slight warmth caused the prince, generally a light sleeper, to stir, lashes starting to flutter.

Merlin stopped the motion with a carefully placed hand to his friend's shoulder.

"Sleep, Arthur."

And for once in his life, his prat of a best friend listened to him.

* * *

><p>Uther was holding court in the throne room, its normally regal atmosphere changed to reflect that of war. He stood at the head of the table, looking over a map and planning his latest conquest. To his right stood Arthur's second in command, who had quickly risen in Uther's estimation after coming directly to him with the news of Arthur. No one else was present, as the disappearance of the Crown Prince of Camelot was not information that could risk being leaked to the general public. The people loved Arthur and panic would ensue. The neighboring kingdoms would sense weakness and war would follow. And Uther would be unable to search for what he considered his greatest accomplishment of his long, violent life.<p>

No one else was in the room, but Uther imagined Ygraine floating off to his left, just barely in his line of sight, glaring at him. Sometimes he forgot that Arthur's stubbornness and willpower did not all come from him.

_I'll get our boy back, Ygraine. I swear it._

"The route the prince chose to take was here, Sire." Leon was drawing a trail on the map with his fingertip, leading towards the little village. Uther noticed that it was neither the most direct nor the fastest he could have chosen. He raised an eyebrow at Leon, who seemed to anticipate the question.

"He had many of the newly knighted men with him, Sire. He wanted to give them more practice, more of a chance to get used being in the saddle and riding out to battle. He believed that a problem like that the village posed was the perfect opportunity to get a small fight under their belts and increase their confidence."

Uther felt a small flash of pride, but smothered it before his traitorous mouth could reflect it with a smile. There were more pressing matters at hand.

"So Arthur would have been travelling in the forest most of the time," he mused. Something about that area seemed familiar…

"Correct, my lord. But that's the problem. There is nothing in these woods. I've been through them thousands of times. Arthur has been through them even more. We've never been attacked and never come across anything that might pose an issue. Even the villagers have never had cause for complaint until the animals started attacking their crops and animals."

Uther was listening, but he continued to stare at the map. Something about it…

His eyes widened slightly, memory rushing back. His rage at finding his precious wife dead, killed by the magic he trusted to give them a son. His determination to wipe out every trace of the evil that had destroyed his family. His order to build a fortress in the deepest part of the fortress, forcing sorcerers to cast spells to prevent magic usage and then locking them up in the belly of their own creation. No magic user who entered the place ever left again.

When the threat of magic seemed to be fading, Uther had ordered the stronghold to cease its efforts. He had left the building standing, just in case a need ever arose again.

And then he forgot, the knights had forgotten with him, and the castle had sat unused. At least, as far has he knew. At least, until now.

"Here." Uther reached out with sudden certainly and pointed to an unmarked place in the middle of the forest. "Arthur is here. There is a small citadel. He must be held there."

Leon shot him a short, calculating glance, but said nothing and did not question. Uther mentally raised his opinion of the man yet again. Arthur had chosen well.

"I'll ready the knights then, shall I?" He squared his shoulders and faced Uther more fully. "We will leave at once."

Uther nodded, once, shortly and benefitting a king. Leon seemed almost disappointed. He bowed and started to exit.

As the king watched the younger man go, he thought about his younger days as a warrior. He thought about how nothing would ever stop him from fighting for his family. He thought about how sick at heart he felt when something had happened to them that was out of his control.

He remembered holding a tiny baby in his arms. A small tuft of yellow hair was just starting to sprout and huge eyes like the color of only one other person stared up at him. The infant was not crying or screaming, just studying. A little arm finally reached up to bump his chin and a laugh burbled out at the contact. Uther swore then that nothing would ever happen to this child.

When had that changed?

"Leon!" he called. Leon turned from where he had been pulling open the door.

"Yes, Sire?"

"Ready another horse. I'm coming with you." It hadn't changed; he had just forgotten for a while.

Leon seemed to be struggling with a grin. "Of course, Sire." He took his leave.

Uther smiled to himself once he was alone. Nothing was going to stop him from getting back his boy.

He strode out of the room to meet the knights, pausing just once as he left to whisper _"I'll get him back"_ to the empty room behind him.


End file.
